Eye Contact
by Lady Papillon Rose
Summary: A random call for assistance from Pacifica lands Dipper at yet another fancy party at Northwest Manor, resulting in an impromptu dance lesson, the realization that champagne is awful, and the chance to get closer to someone he might be just a little attracted to. Follows 'Once in a Lifetime'.


AN: I boarded the Dipifica ship and now I can't get off. Oh well. Takes place a little after 'Once in a Lifetime'. I don't own anything. Mostly. : )

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It only took one sip for Dipper to decide he didn't care for champagne.

The pale, slightly bubbly liquid in the glass (_flute_, Pacifica kept correcting him, it's a _flute_) he was holding looked innocuous, and it didn't smell particularly off, but the moment he tipped it to his lips and swallowed he instantly regretted the decision. It tasted faintly like grapes that had been soaking in acid for a couple of decades. He coughed, setting it on the buffet table next to him and turning to glare at the girl standing behind him while making a point of ignoring the couple of snazzily dressed women a few years older than him that glanced over at them, smirking. "What _was_ that?"

Pacifica gawked at him. "It's Prosecco?"

Dipper looked at her blankly.

"Champagne," she said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose between her gloved fingertips. "Please don't tell me you've never had champagne before."

"Is it supposed to be corrosive?"

Pacifica sipped daintily at her glass with only the shadow of a grimace. "I suppose it's an acquired _taste_." She put emphasis on the word, and Dipper briefly considered pouring his glass over her head before realizing that she was staring directly at the pair poking fun at him in a considerably less than subtle manner. The two got the hint, frowning, but they couldn't very well lay into the only daughter of the host of the gala. Pacifica turned her attention back to Dipper, as if the show of dominance hadn't just occurred right in front of him. "Perhaps you'd find the sparkling cider more to your liking?"

She waved at a nearby waiter. "Marco! Could you be a dear and bring Mr. Pines a bit of the Martinelli's?"

The waiter nodded and hurried off with his coat tails swishing in the air behind him; in his absence the two teenagers now had a little more privacy and Pacifica seemed to shrink as her facade fell momentarily. "It's not as sour as the champagne."

"Do you even like any of this stuff?" Dipper asked, casting a wary eye over the contents of the table. Most of it was unrecognizable, save for a platter of small pieces of bread topped with a variety of spreads and slices of meat and cheese.

"The canapes are fine." Pacifica reached for one of the hors d'oeuvres, selecting one with a dollop of what looked like some sort of cheese spread. "Try this one."

Dipper popped it into his mouth. It was actually pretty good, although he could instantly tell that the topping wasn't any kind of cheese he recognized. "That's not bad. What's it topped with?"

"Goose liver."

The only thing that prevented Dipper from spitting it out was the knowledge that she just might break one of the champagne glasses (_flutes_) and end his life with it. He swallowed the mouthful of horror, pressing his hand to his lips for a second to keep from retching. Pacifica sighed. "Look, can't you just _pretend_to be classy? I know that's a stretch but if you can catch a ghost you can sip champagne and act like you like it for a few hours."

"That's because the _ghost_ wasn't a severe threat to my tastebuds," Dipper retorted. "And why am I here, anyway? You said you needed help with something important."

"This _is_ important!" Pacifica hissed. "Mother wouldn't let me be seen alone at their Midsummer Gala, and-"

"And she was going to set you up with someone?"

Pacifica reddened, suddenly very preoccupied with the hem of her dress. "Um…"

"So I'm a decoy," Dipper concluded. He wasn't sure whether the uncomfortable twinge in the pit of his stomach was the disgraced spirit of the goose whose liver he'd just eaten, frustration at being used yet again, or a mild amount of disappointment over being a replacement for someone richer and probably a lot more attractive than he was. Which it probably wasn't, because Pacifica Northwest wasn't his type and he sure as hell wasn't hers.

Maybe.

The fact that he'd stayed after hopping into the limo that pulled up outside of the Shack, bearing a note in Pacifica's handwriting asking for _his_ assistance specifically (he was glad Mabel was out with Candy and Grenda somewhere, if only so he didn't have to let them down by telling them that they couldn't tag along), and being whisked over to the manor only to find himself being dragged upstairs and forced into another suit that seemed intent on choking him to death spoke volumes. He _could_, and probably should have walked right back out the door and hitched a ride back to the Mystery Shack but a part of him was intrigued at the chance to spend more time with the girl who wasn't as bad as he'd thought earlier that summer when they first met.

There was also the fact that the rose blush gown Pacifica was wearing with just a hint of sparkle at the hem and her hair flowing down her back beneath a jeweled headband that gleamed in the light whenever she turned a certain way made it a little harder to leave. Just a little.

Although the dark look in Preston Northwest's eye when Pacifica presented herself at the start of the gala with him in tow indicated that she probably hadn't asked her parents whether she could invite _him_ specifically and made Dipper wonder if he'd be returning to the Shack ever.

Back in the present, Pacifica's head shot up at the sound of his voice. "No, it's not like that! It's just more fun with you around."

She paused, realizing what she'd just said, and her flush deepened. "Because you're a total dork and it makes me look better in comparison."

"Ouch." Dipper placed a hand against his chest, pretending to be wounded, but he was smiling, and she was smiling too, and her smile (the genuine one that reached her eyes) was just a few tics short of stunning…

…then it faded as she paled, looking at a spot over his shoulder and muttering, "Oh no."

Before Dipper could ask what was wrong a tall, thin woman in an ostentatious dress coated from neck to hem in some kind of crystals pushed past him, reaching for Pacifica's hands and clutching them in her own. "Hello, darling!" she cried.

"Good evening, Mrs. Guldigger," Pacifica said politely. The mask was back up. The sparkle in her eyes dulled once more and the arrogant tone crept back into her voice. She let go of the woman's hands, lightly taking hold of the sides of her gown and executing a perfect curtsy.

"I haven't seen you all night!" A harried-looking older man joined her, wincing as she gripped his hand tightly. "I thought you might be ill." Her eyes flickered over to where Dipper stood awkwardly. "And _do_ introduce me to your companion!"

Her sharp grey eyes roamed over him like a spotlight; she said nothing but the unspoken judgment was loud and clear. She knew he didn't belong here, and she was intent on conveying that to him without breaking her feigned pleasantry.

Pacifica glanced over at him; her expression never wavered but something in her eye told him that she'd realized what was happening as well. "Mr. and Mrs. Guldigger, this is my friend Dipper Pines."

Dipper internally panicked for a few seconds before remembering to extend his hand so Mrs. Guldigger (Mr. Guldigger may well have been a homunculus for all the life he displayed) could shake it. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Guldigger."

"Charmed!" Mrs. Guldigger gushed. Dipper sort of hoped the man at her side was a marionette of sorts, because he couldn't imagine listening to her voice day in and day out without committing homicide. "What an interesting name! Pines. Where have I heard that name before…"

Dipper knew exactly where this was heading and braced himself for the worst, but it still stung when she gasped in recognition. "Pines! Is that the proprietor of that old tourist trap near the edge of town?" She nudged her husband none too gently. "Robert! What is that place called?"

"The Mystery Shack," Dipper responded, with an edge in his voice. "And yes, it's owned by my grand uncle."

"My! I suppose every town needs a touch of kitsch," Mrs. Guldigger said graciously, and Dipper seethed inwardly. Who did these people think they were? They were no better than the peacocks that strutted throughout the garden, unaware of the fact that there was a world outside with a rough underside that couldn't be filed into submission with a credit card.

To his surprise Pacifica piped up beside him, cheerfully. "But Mrs. Guldigger, the Mystery Shack is actually an important landmark here in Gravity Falls!"

Mrs. Guldigger raised her eyebrow increduously. "Is it, now? Whatever for?"

Pacifica smiled, looking the unpleasant shrew right in the eye as she said, coldly, "It's a relic of another age."

Mrs. Guldigger stiffened, her lips pressed together in a thin line; Mr. Guldigger jolted to life, awakened by the waves of hostility flowing from his wife. "Oh, look at the time! We must be moving along, dear!"

Mrs. Guldigger said nothing as he took her by the elbow and led her away.

Pacifica curtsied again at their backs. "Do have a pleasant evening, darling!"

Dipper waited until the couple melted into the crowd before allowing himself to laugh until the corners of his eyes burned. "That was _awesome._"

Pacifica looked a little green around the gills, as it dawned on her what she'd just done. "My parents are going to _kill_ me." She hid her face behind her hands. "I've always hated her anyway."

Just how many risks _had_ she taken that night? Between potentially making enemies of fellow socialites and incurring the wrath of her parents Pacifica seemed to be in full-on rebel mode, and a good bit of it seemed to be on his behalf.

Dipper studied her contemplatively. She was still cringing, but he felt a surge of respect for her in that moment. It wasn't the same as running from gnomes and battling Handwitches, but navigating this sea of vipers on a daily basis required an admirable level of mental fortitude and wit. Pacifica Northwest was equally courageous in her own way.

"Hey, you wanna get some fresh air?" He reached for her hand, hesitating for a split second before mustering the rest of _his _courage and gently taking hold of it. "It's a little stuffy in here."

Pacifica flashed a smile of gratitude before answering in an imperious tone, "That would be lovely, Mr. Pines. Please lead the way."

"Pacifica?"

"Yes?"

"I have _no_ idea where I'm going."

In the end she led the way instead, artfully sneaking them past the body of partygoers, up a flight of stairs and out onto a balcony decorated with garlands of white string lights. It was until she slid the thin glass door leading outside shut that she allowed herself to breathe, gracefully sinking onto a stone bench with some kind of spring motif carved into the back. "Thanks, Dipper."

"Are these parties always like this?" Dipper asked sympathetically, sitting next to her.

"Pretty much." Pacifica peeled off her gloves, folding them neatly and setting them aside.

"Is that why you invited me?"

Blue eyes met his, then looked away. "Yes."

Dipper grinned.

"Don't read too much into it," Pacifica added, quickly. "You're still a dork."

"A dork that _you_ like hanging out with, apparently," Dipper said with a hint of pride.

"Don't rub it in." Faint snatches of music filtered up from where the rest of the gala continued without pause, unphased by the heiress and her guest. Instead of the canned tunes Dipper was used to at parties there was an actual orchestra, albeit a small one, and a clear, sweet symphony floated through the air. Pacifica ran her fingers through her hair; the golden strands brushed against Dipper's arm and he resisted the urge to reach out and touch it. Naturally blonde or not, he imagined it was soft and silky.

…there was only so much lying to himself he could do.

He took a deep breath, then rose to his feet. Pacifica regarded him questioningly, and Dipper nearly lost his nerve. "Hey…um…you wanna dance?"

Pacifica stared at him critically. "Do you even know how?"

"Nope!" Dipper said cheerfully.

"Then why'd you ask?"

He shrugged. "It seemed like the right thing to do in this situation? I don't end up at fancy parties with pretty girls very often."

The words were unplanned, and once they left his mouth there was no way to fumble or take them back. Pacifica looked surprised as well, which was odd. He'd have expected her to be accustomed to that kind of compliment, but she appeared to be genuinely taken back by either his admission or his recklessness. After an agonizing minute or so she swept her hair over her shoulder and stood as well. "I guess I _should _teach you a few moves so you don't embarrass me next time."

"N-next time?" Dipper stammered; Pacifica rolled her eyes, grabbing his hand and leading him further out onto the balcony.

Dipper didn't know how to dance in any particular capacity that he was comfortable showing other people (what he did in his own room while listening to 80s pop music was his own business), and despite the occasional to recently frequent daydreaming he definitely didn't know how to dance with a girl. He could recall Mabel and himself 'dancing' together when they were much younger and before he developed a greater propensity to feel shame than she did, but that was completely different from holding hands with Pacifica Northwest under a starry sky, surrounded by a myriad smaller stars casting a warm glow all around them.

"Okay," Pacifica instructed as she moved his left hand, placing it at her hip, and holding the other. With her body this close to his he could smell whatever perfume she was wearing, and for the umpteenth time Dipper was glad he'd reopened the Mystery Shack door after slamming it in her face when she showed up on his porch earlier that summer. "We'll start off with a waltz. That's easy. I'll lead."

The footwork seemed easy enough, but the proximity and nerves caused Dipper to fumble a bit at first, either stepping to the side at the wrong time or forward when it was supposed to be backwards; at least he managed to avoid actually stepping on her feet.

"You're so awkward," Pacifica commented, with more amusement than criticism. "Stop thinking about it so much. Just listen to the music and move."

Dipper sighed. "This really shouldn't be this difficult."

"Only because you're thinking too hard. Stop looking at your feet and look at me." She moved the hand on his shoulder, brushing it against his chin. "Eye contact."

Beautiful blue eyes gazed into his, unwavering and confident. "See?"

"Eye contact," Dipper repeated.

"Eye contact."

He leaned in close, brushing his lips against hers, and she responded in kind. It wasn't the most artful kiss, being his first, but it was pretty much everything he'd always hoped it would be, music and all. Whatever lip gloss she was wearing tasted like some kind of fruit, and her bangs swept across his forehead.

When they finally parted, Dipper noted that her face was flushed a soft pink, more than likely matching his. She wasn't smiling, though, and he felt instantly compelled to apologize for being so forward. "Sorry. I've never done that before. I-"

Fingertips pressed against his lips, halting him before he could explain further. "I haven't either," Pacifica admitted. "I'd never met anyone I liked enough."

Those words sunk in, nearly short-circuiting Dipper's brain, and all he could say was "Oh."

"Yeah." Pacifica echoed.

They stared at each other for a moment before Dipper said, only half-joking, "You know your parents are _really_ gonna hate this."

She laughed, seizing his tie and gently tugging him closer. "Good."


End file.
